


Runaway Poltergeists

by KittyCatriona (War_Worn_Lipstick)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Ableist Language, Afterlife, Angst, Dissociation, Ghosts, Implied Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Illness - Depression, Panic Attack, Paranormal, Recovery, Supernatural - Freeform, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, also dan self harms by masturbating basically, camboy, homophobic remarks, mental illness - major dissociative disorder, platonic, semi-graphic descriptions of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7805728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/War_Worn_Lipstick/pseuds/KittyCatriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan Howell dissociates, and Phil Lester is a ghost. Somehow, Phil still seems more real than Dan does. (Further summary in notes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runaway Poltergeists

**Author's Note:**

> Dan Howell's dissociation gets especially bad after being raped by his boyfriend. He runs away from home and ends up living with a poltergeist named Phil Lester. Dan, a ghost of a person, and Phil, a person of ghost. Things are tough for a while but they get better.
> 
>  
> 
> _Heed the warnings in the tags, please._
> 
>  
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this, I must say, and I am very proud of it as well. If only I weren't such a succinct writer and it were longer haha.

Dan was a drifter and nobody could catch him. Sometimes he’d reach out, in hopes of helping them catch him, but mostly he just allowed himself to float.

It was never too bad when he was younger. Little Dan, sixteen years old, thought his slight problem came simply from lack of sleep. He had trouble connecting his limbs to his body because he was up the night before playing Pokémon Silver until three AM. Or, he couldn’t decide if that was truly his face in the mirror because he had to wake up at six this morning to cook breakfast for his mother and to get his brother his medication. Everything swept past him because he was in over his head, managing school on top of managing his family.

Then, it happened. Little Dan got himself a boyfriend—Marcus, three years his senior. As far as Dan knew, Marcus was the only other boy in the school district who liked boys in the same way Dan did.

Dan was content going to see movies, kissing under the stars, sharing dessert at dinner—but Marcus wanted more, and one night, when Dan’s mother was at an appointment with Dan’s brother, Marcus laid on top of Dan in a way that meant Dan couldn’t push him off, and then Dan left his body.

*

He stood there, completely helpless, and watched as the other Dan, this Dan he could not relate to, writhed and cried as Marcus flipped him over and pressed his face into the mattress. He watched Marcus pull down both of their jeans and pants, and then spit into his hand and touch himself. The real Dan grasped at his neck, clawing himself, as he watched this other Dan sputter and whine, unsuccessful again at getting Marcus away. 

This other Dan got quiet and still real quick when Marcus pushed inside of him. Came inside of him. 

The real Dan watched himself shiver in silence when Marcus tried to talk to him afterwards. Eventually, Marcus just left. The real Dan woke up later in his bed like nothing had happened.

*

For half a year, sixteen year old Dan drifted. Untouched, untouchable. He was only his mind, and barely that, and he was only his body in the moments when someone would bump into him, a sudden jolt, or touch his shoulders, an assault. Conversation was tilted, and every expression he put on his face was strained, easily fake. 

For a year, seventeen year old Dan was the same.

Somehow, Dan continued to take care of his mother and brother. They didn’t notice a difference.

Somehow, Dan continued to face Marcus almost every day in school. Marcus broke up with him. Called him boring to his face, a faggot behind his back. It was weird, Dan thought. 

Marcus, aren’t you a faggot too?

No, man, no. Not like Dan. Dan is… you know. Full on. It’s like a lifestyle for him. 

At eighteen years old, Dan stole all the money he could from his mother and went to London, bought the cheapest flat he could find.

It’s for the best, Dan said.

They’re going to die without me, Dan thought. 

He figured that was true but he could hardly bring himself to care. Then he felt bad for not caring.

*

As soon as Dan moved into the flat and had a moment alone, he knew something was wrong. 

The place was three rooms—the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen-slash-living area. The main room was smaller than his dining room back home. This place couldn’t even fit a dining table. 

That was all well and good, though. The problem, Dan found, was that things moved, constantly, when he wasn’t looking, and things made noise, softly at first but then louder, in the other rooms. 

For example, just after collapsing onto the sofa, tired from talking to the landlord, he blinked and found a pillow from the bedroom in his lap. Before he could respond, thudding sounded from behind the bedroom door, like someone was running quietly in place.

Dan frowned and hugged the pillow to his chest. It smelt like green tea. The thudding got louder until it was echoing throughout the entire apartment, but still distinctly came from the bedroom. Dan squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face in the pillow.

The thudding only stopped when there were knocks on the front door. Three sharp taps—very different from the thudding. Dan ran to the door and threw it open, pillow still against his chest. It was the landlord, returned. 

“Your neighbor in 6B called with a noise complaint.”

“I’m—” Dan started, “—I don’t—”

“Said she heard crying,” the landlord interrupted. “You alright?”

Dan swallowed. “Crying?” 

“You must have been crying pretty loud for old 6B to have heard you.”

Dan let the pillow fall to the floor. “I wasn’t crying.”

“Oh, well,” the landlord shrugged. “Just keep it down, alright? Not a good sign, getting a complaint first thing like this.” 

“I’ll try,” Dan said, and then he corrected himself. “I mean, definitely. It won’t happen again.” 

“Good boy. Have a good afternoon.”

Dan thought about “Good boy” for a few hours before falling asleep on the couch to a really lovely lullaby that was being hummed through the walls. The pillow from the bedroom was in the hallway outside his door.

*

Dan grew accustomed to the strangeness of his flat, and, lucky for him, no more noise complaints were filed. 

A ghost, Dan decided.

A poltergeist, some voice supplied. The bathroom door slammed shut, and Dan couldn’t be bothered to care. 

Dan needed an income if he was going to survive longer than a couple of months, but he didn’t want to leave his house. He googled “work from home” on his phone, ignoring the dozens of missed calls from his mother and a particularly heartbreaking text from his brother that read **i mis you,** followed by a broken-heart emoji. 

He didn’t understand most of the job descriptions he looked at. Only three options stood out as possibilities:

A camboy or phone sex operator. This option fell low on Dan’s list, but he wanted to keep his options open.

A freelance writer and/or editor. This seemed like the best option. Dan could write articles for a small journal while also editing people’s creative or professional documents for a low, low price.

A Youtuber. This, to Dan, seemed less than probable. It required some kind of skill-set, and talent, and Dan didn’t have either.

Dan sent some articulate emails to local newspapers and lifestyle magazines, and then he made a Tumblr and a separate website for his editing. 

There was moaning in the kitchen, low and ghastly, and Dan allowed himself to drift away. He watched his fingers tap along his desk and the movement, it seemed so delayed. He blinked and he was in slow motion. 

*

Dan made about €30 a week, more or less, from his writing and editing. It wouldn’t sustain him. He set up a camboy profile and considered crying simply for the theatrics of it, but working up tears seemed needlessly difficult, so he just sat in front of his laptop and chewed his bottom lip until it bled.

Eventually he got up the guts to open a session. No one joined at first and he was kind of relieved, but then a guest came on and sent “take off ur clothes” through the chat. Dan sighed and then forced a smile. 

“What,” he said, “no foreplay?”

A few more guests joined, so Dan started to lift his shirt.

“so nice”

“such a pretty thing x”

“talk more bb”

Dan took his shirt off and smoothed his hands down his chest. 

xx_suckmydick_xx joined the session and immediately tipped Dan ten coins. 

“Tell me what you want to see,” Dan said, licking his lips.

“everything” xx_suckmydick_xx said.

*

Dan watched himself take off his jeans and pull his cock out from his pants. Dan blinked and realized he had split into two again. It was weird, and as a Dan that was not himself began stroking his cock, the real Dan decided that watching this felt like rape. 

He turned away, then, and was met by a boy, a man, really, standing about three feet away, looking straight at him.

“Hello,” the real Dan said. 

The man blinked. “You see me?” he asked. 

Dan nodded.

“Yes,” Dan said. “You have blue eyes, and black hair that is rather too long.”

“I know this,” the man said. “What I don’t know is why you can see me. Why you aren’t in your body.”

Dan shook his head. “I am in my body. That’s a different Dan in a different body.” Dan said. Then, he added, “Have you considered getting a haircut?”

The man frowned, and his fingers found his black hair, and they tugged gently at the tips. “I like it like this,” the man said. 

“Oh,” Dan said. “Alright.”

The Dan on the bed moaned, sensual and fake, and the Dan standing shook his head again. 

“Would you like to leave here?” the man asked. 

“Yes please,” the real Dan said, and they went to the living room, shutting the bedroom door behind them.

“I don’t like being in the room with people either,” the man said.

Dan sat on the couch. “You were in the room, though. Just now, before I saw you.”

The man stayed standing. “I was curious,” he said. “I thought you wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Why?” Dan asked. “Because I’m shy?”

“Because you’ve been hurt.”

“Oh,” Dan said.

“Oh,” the man agreed. 

*

The man’s name was Phil and he was the poltergeist. Dan felt a lot less frightened of the noises knowing they were only coming from Phil. 

*

When Dan refocused on the bed, the session had ended. He was up 140 coins in tips, and the session had gone on for about forty minutes. In total, he did the math, that meant about €15. He was happy. 

Well.

*

*

*

Dan began looking forward to his cam sessions, because it meant seeing Phil, who Dan thought was quite charming for a ghost. Phil liked having an effect, making a mark, which intrigued Dan, who much preferred to hide. 

“I scare people away,” Phil said, “until I find someone I like. And then, usually, I scare them away, too.”

“I’m not scared,” Dan said.

Phil smiled. “This isn’t you,” he said.

“It is me,” Dan disagreed.

Phil shook his head, still smiling. “No. You’re fucking yourself with a vibrator right now. I can hear it. This—” he waved to the Dan in front of him, “—this isn’t real. Whatever this is, it isn’t real.”

“We’re both real,” Dan said. “Both Dans. Split, separate. But both whole people.” Dan crossed his arms over his chest, regarding Phil with scrutiny. “Maybe you’re not real. I am crazy, after all.”

“Not crazy,” Phil said. “Hurt. Like I said before.”

“I was crazy before I got hurt,” Dan said. “But anyways. If you’re so sure I’m not real, why are you talking to me?”

“I’ll ask you the same question,” Phil said. 

“You first.”

“No, you.”

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

Dan let out a long, suffering sigh. He realized, in that moment, that he, too, could hear the other Dan fucking himself with a vibrator. 

“I don’t have anyone else to talk to,” The real Dan said eventually. 

Phil nodded. “Me neither.”

*

Dan was making almost €800 a month now from his cam job, so he stopped writing and editing. There was no point, really. He could spend all his energy fucking himself for money because it wasn’t actually like he was fucking himself for money. 

Mostly.

Dan did find that he was tired a lot, in pain a lot. He was more distanced from his body than ever, even when he was supposedly inside it. He wondered if he was even alive. Maybe he was a poltergeist, a weirdly horny poltergeist, and Phil was actually the owner of the flat.

He ignored another call from his mother, and he stared at a nonsensical flurry of texts from his brother.

**I’m ckieecyou**

**I’m k war dead m good me**

**Me m us sad that not feed me**

“Do you ever want to go home?” Phil asked that night, eyeing Dan’s phone. 

“I miss my brother,” Dan admitted. “I didn’t think I would.”

“What’s he like?”

“Sad. Sick.”

“Sick how?”

“Disabled. But he doesn’t let it destroy him. He never let it destroy him.”

“And your mum?”

“Sad.”

“Too sad?”

“Too sad.”

“I understand,” Phil said.

“I don’t,” Dan said. 

Phil’s gaze flicked from the phone to Dan’s fingers, which were tapping on the couch cushions. “Don’t you though?” Phil asked.

“I don’t,” Dan repeated.

Phil let it be.

*

One day after a long night of talking to Phil, Dan couldn’t get out of bed. His face hurt, his ass hurt, he could barely open his eyes, he didn’t even try to move his legs. He fell back asleep. When he woke up, there was a glass of water and a bowl of chicken broth on the bed stand. He whispered thanks into the air, downed the broth, and began sipping the water. 

He called his brother.

“Don’t tell Mom,” he said towards the end of their conversation. 

“No,” he said. “Don’t tell Mom.” 

He was thankful his brother was still alive.

That night, when Dan started a cam session, he didn’t split. Instead, his hands got numb, and he forgot how to use lubrication, and tears fell from his eyes and he just drove his vibrator in and out, and half the chat was terrified, and the other half urged him on. 

Afterwards, there was blood on the sheets and he was up 1,270 coins. 

He stood, and then he fell, and he saw his hands claw at the floor, and he felt them in the warmth of another pair of hands, and it was too warm, too much, and he pulled his hands away and pressed them to his temples, and he may have screamed, but the noise was drowned out by the sea of static that wrapped itself around him, and he couldn’t breathe anymore, not through the static, and when the landlord knocked about a noise complaint, no one was there to answer the door. 

*

 

*

  

*

Phil Lester had been a Youtuber. He was talented, creative, and he had gone to college for film and post-production, so he had the required skill-set. His family had been warm, endearing. Every Christmas was a happy one, and his mother didn’t ever cry into her dinners at night. 

Phil had a friend named PJ and they spent all their time together. Filming. Laughing. Kissing sometimes. They were close. If Phil was autumn, PJ was summer, and together, they survived the coldest, wettest months. 

Phil got in a car accident and PJ died in the passenger seat. Real sad moment for a lot of people.

London didn’t feel the same without PJ (too cold), so Phil left.

*

Dan learned all of this while he was sleeping. When he woke up, there was a gentle but steady tapping coming from the bathroom. Dan went inside, but he could not find his poltergeist. 

*

Dan never cammed again, not after that last horrible experience, but he did start a Youtube channel. He talked about everything he hated about himself, but in a funny way, and people seemed to enjoy it. He tried to filter some essence of Phil through him whenever he edited, but nothing ever came of it. He had to develop the skill-set himself. 

Eventually, he was making steady money, enough to get by, and things seemed okay. 

**saw your vides** , came a message from his brother. Dan smiled at it and felt tears come to his eyes.

 **What’d you think?** he sent back.

**your so funny. mom misses you**

Dan typed out **Don’t tell mom** , but then erased it. He bit his lip, stared around his flat. **Tell her I said hi** , he sent instead. 

He had four missed calls from his mother after that, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. Not yet. 

*

He thought about things that terrified him, and apart from the obvious (Marcus, confronting his mother, vibrators), he could only think of one thing: heights. So he set out to the London Eye, which truly wasn’t far from his flat, and loaded up in the pod. No one paid him any mind. It was broad daylight and the first time he’d been outside in ages. 

He looked out as they rose, waiting to find himself split in two, but nothing happened. Bored, he tried to find his flat instead. 

There, with the open window.

Phil was in the open window, staring up at Dan, directly up at Dan.

Dan shivered and held the gaze. 

*

That night, after calling his mother, Dan discovered a memory. 

He was back in his childhood home, stumbling out of his bedroom and into the bathroom, crying, cleaning blood and semen from his inner thighs. 

Dan realized, then, that there was no Other Dan, split and separate from Real Dan. There was only him, and he had been raped. 

*

Sometimes, Dan’s mother and brother come to visit Dan in London. He has a new flat, a bigger flat, a flat without a poltergeist. Occasionally when he goes outside for groceries, he gets stopped by his fans from Youtube. 

One day, years down the line, when he no longer believes in the supernatural, Dan opens up about the rape, and the dissociation, and the running away. He makes a video about it. He tells his fans that things will get better, and he actually believes what he’s telling them.

“I used to drift,” he says. “You just have to slow down and find your footing.” 

That evening, for no reason, really, he googles **phil youtube** , and he’s met with blue eyes and black hair that is rather too long.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading. Please, _please_ let me know your thoughts, because like I said earlier, I actually am really really proud of this and that's sort of rare for me, so, yeah. Let me know? <3
> 
> Also I apologize for any typos. I wrote this by hand and then typed it up, and sometimes in that kind of translation I screw things up a lot. If you spot any, please let me know so I can fix them.


End file.
